Chapter 10: Captain Zana Hoffsteder
Captain Zana Hoffsteder stood in the warm Ecuadorian dawn which flooded the control cabin of the Unbound Pleasure. Around her, the vast airship readied itself for its inland journey. It was one of those rare times when most of the crew were at their stations and not secured for flight. Likely the only one bound was the airship's diminutive cook, whom had been mockingly stripped and hogtied in a large serving tray in the small galley. Vegetables had been placed creatively around her. When Zana had seen this, she'd acted promptly, jamming an apple poetically into the angry woman's mouth. One had to consider appearances, of course.
The airship hung from the mooring mast in the calm morning air, her single orgasium-supercharged engine idling, slowly milling the props. They had to depart soon to reach the site of the native Indians they were tasked to study before nightfall. And Chief Officer Constance Drummand was still missing.
Lady Petunia Goldwaith had been no help, as usual. She'd returned to the ship the afternoon prior, bobbing obediently at the end of a leash held by her smiling guide, Alina. Zana had met her at the top of the ramp, the brilliant blue eyes behind the tiny spectacles frowning as she'd taken in the scientist's condition. Her hair was rumpled and her dress inside out. Furthermore, her monoglove had been inexpertly replaced, its many straps twisted. Clearly the Royal Scientist had been out of the protective confinement her controlling officer had placed her in. And furthermore, that controlling officer was missing.
"Don't mind 'er," Petunia said in frumpled drowsiness. "The High Mistress wanted her to overnight at the palace to... discuss things. She'll be right as rain in the morning."
Zana Hoffsteder knew that an exhausted scientist was an impaired scientist, and after taking the map with the tribe's location outlined from her, she ordered Petra to buckle her Ladyship into her bunk for some enforced rest.
"And, Petra," she'd called after her XO. "No groping or fondling." As an answer, she heard a frustrated complaint come from Petunia.
She pulled herself from recollections of yesterday at the sight of a trio of woman approaching the base of the mooring mast, their shadows long in the dawn light. Alina led, her figure beautifully wrapped in a sarong of white cotton. Two priestesses followed, a pole suspended across their shoulders, the missing police officer hanging like an animal from it. The officer seemed quite done in by her supposed liaison duties, her head hanging back limply, her scarlet hair rippling in the faint tropical breeze.
Zana felt a stab of guilt at this. She'd had this same officer strapped to her wall for a little playtime following their equator crossing two nights ago. In her mind, she could still see the pump-gagged, naked Constance, her strong limbs buckled wide and open before her, eyes flashing from the effects of Lady Goldwaith's formula. She could remember how she'd played with her poor pet, a little licking, a little tickling, a little touch here and there while the straps creaked and the cabin filled with muffled gasps. And now, evidently, she'd had another hard night. Poor girl.
Captain Hoffsteder met the women at the elevator doors in the mooring tower. While Petra took the now-unbound constable up in her strong arms, Alina smiled to the airship Captain.
"Are you certain you must leave so soon, my good Captain? You seem so tense. Perhaps you would like to explore some of the same cultural curiosities your scientist experienced yesterday. I could have you back by noon."
Looking into the sensuous coppery face, Zana felt her resolve almost crumble. How... interesting it would be to surrender to the whims of this strong Andean maiden. But no, she had her mission. She expressed her thanks, watched the elevator descend, then ordered the line linking them to the mast be cast off. Now free of its hobbling tower, the Unbound Pleasure began drifting across the field.
"Elevators up fifteen degrees," Hoffsteder called out crisply. "Rudder over port. Engines to 2/3rds." There came the ring of the engine repeaters as the RPMs came up. Zana forced herself to concentrate of the departure, not sparing a thought to the helpless women in the gasbag overhead, being conveyed, over and over again, to the devilish machines that ravaged orgasium from their quivering bodies.
The propellers bit into the sweet air, driving the airship into a comfortable climb. Zana rode the deck easily, looking down as Quito passed below them. They passed low over the central pyramid, the manni sacrifice clearly visible, tied wide across the dais. His purpling distress within the high priestesses' grip was quite apparent, as was his desperate yet delighted grimace. Zana wondered how long he would appreciate his role in the rite as the hours dragged on and the torments continued.
Then they were over the city proper, looking down over a hundred rooftops. Here and there, maids beat at rugs hanging on lines. Elsewhere, male pets hung on their drying racks, their flesh still ruddy from the servant's scrubbing following their night servicing the mistresses of the household. And occasionally, servant girls stood lashed tightly to upright rooftop poles, no doubt being punished for small domestic indiscretions. The helpless girls watched the airship's passage, their dark eyes wide over their tight cloth gags.
Even with the gradual rise of ground towards the distance mountains, the airship was climbing away. Zana monitored the vessel's status via the deck vibrations. She turned to the Russian XO.
"Petra, the engines seem to be surging every ten minutes. Can you have Lady Petunia summoned?"
"Da," replied the second officer, "but it might not be wise at dis time." At the arched eyebrow over the small clip-on spectacles, the second officer further explained, "I released her dis morning for departure, and commanded her to attend to you. A short time ago, when she hadn't shown up, I went back to find her in Officer Drummand's quarters."
"Officer Drummand is her bodyguard," Zana replied. "There was nothing wrong with that."
"Like Lady Goldwaith, we secured the officer in her bunk. Lady Goldwaith was in der with her..." Petra paused. "Well, having her way with her. She was aggravating the police woman, molesting her, agitating her when the constable should be resting..."
Captain Hoffsteder shifted her stance, to try to keep her rubber flight suit from agitating her suddenly hardening nipples. The thought of laying strapped to a bunk, naked and helpless, and then discovered by the passionate Petunia, was a thought indeed. In her mind's eye, Zana could imagine the flashing girlish eyes, the cupidic smile, and the first gauging brushes of bold fingertips...
"And so," Hoffsteder gave a small cough, "what did you do?"
"A crew member and I returned her Ladyship to her bunk and gave her something to think about her proletariat behavior." She thought for a moment. "I could summon one of the Ladyship's engineers to answer your questions." Zana nodded acceptance to this and the second officer departed.
As she waited, Zana pulled out a brass telescope and looked down over the countryside. Small villages, large estates. She paused her scan in the back lawn of one mansion. An angelic woman, tall and stately in her white gown, stood over a younger girl, probably a daughter who had come to age. The mother placed a loving hand on the girl's shoulder, biding her to kneel on the grass. Then, reaching to a tray held by a nearby maid, she took up a white coil of soft rope. As Zana watched, bracing the eyepiece against a strut, the older woman coaxed the younger's hands behind her back and then began to cord them together with careful attention. The maid watched, a beauticious smile on her face. No doubt the mansion's mistress was binding her daughter up for a nice relaxing day on the grass, to train her on how to endure the type of bindings the world would someday place her into. Zana reflected on this was she watched ropes capture trim ankles; Gai Shift had freed womankind, yet placed them into a new sort of bondage. Be one a poor farming girl or a queen, everyone eventually found themselves bound, helpless, and, hopefully, molested. No one was exempt. Not even airship captains.
She turned slowly to track the loving scene, watching as ropes snugged up beneath budding breasts, when Petra coughed politely behind her. Zana snapped the eye-piece closed and turned. Her second officer stood patiently, a test engineer at her shoulder.
Zana took in the summoned engineer. She was a small girl of Indonesian heritage, her trim body almost boyish in its embracing rubber flight suit. She pondered when she'd seen this girl before, then remembered; the crossing of the equator. The girl had been removed from Lady Goldwaith's extraction devices, wrapped into a bundle with Officer Constance, Petunia, and two other girls, and dunked into the ocean. And now she'd been rotated out of the extraction line, her job to monitor those woman who'd watched while she, herself, had been probed, excited, and orgasmed. The hunted became the hunters. The fuel source became the engineer.
"I am Tela," the girl said in a pleasantly lyrical voice. "You wished to see me?"
"The engines. They seem to be surging."
"We will experience this sort of behavior for the next few days. The new... sources are still uncalibrated. They tend to orgasm prematurely, and their extract is not as refined. We have to run them through the cycle quicker, which cuts into their down time. However, within a day or so, they will enter an erotic haze and we will have a more steady supply. Trust me on this; I know."
Zana knew this quite well, having seen this very girl stretched out and helpless before a half-dozen viewing mirrors, watching as the girl immediately before her in the cycle endured mind-numbing mechanical depravity, knowing full well she was next. Zana wondered what it had been like for this woman, to go through the cycle over and over until her taunt little body quivered between mind-numbing sexual excitement and coma-like sleep. And now she stood, competent and complacent, while those who had witnessed her degeneration now went through it themselves, while she watched their passionate agonies with calm, unsympathetic eyes.
Zana watched the slender Asian climb the ladder back to the gasbag, her brilliant blue eyes taking in the sheen of her rubberized legs. A warm heat seemed to pulse in the crotch of Zana's suit. The captain worried about this. She'd been all ready to endure her much-needed tormenting in London, a service which had been canceled by this Royal mission. What did that leave her now? She strongly disliked being bound while in the air; she had to be on duty round the clock. And so she'd strapped up Petunia and tormented her, then strapped up Constance and tormented her as well. But nobody had strapped up poor Captain Hoffsteder. She'd felt a half-dozen orgasms flow over her fingertips, and none of them had been her own. How frustrating.
She pushed a strand of errant black hair from her eyes, then told her XO she was going to look over the ship. Petra nodded, stepping forward to take her place before the bridge windows.
Zana wandered back, her blood pounding in her veins. What to do? A quick self-inflicted orgasm in her bunk? Perhaps, but it seemed so... predictable. Still in thought, she stopped before Officer Drummand's door. Knowing the indisposed nature of the occupant, she cracked the door and peeped inside.
Constance lay in her soft, narrow bunk, her body naked and at rest. Petra and her girls had strapped her nicely into place, a comforting, tender bondage which left the weary officer no recourse but rest. Zana looked at the girl's bird-like profile and smiled to herself, remember how she'd grunted two nights ago when the eruptions had finally come. She looked so sweet and cozy, her hard features relaxed in slumber. With a smile, Zana closed the door.
Next was Petunia's chamber. Zana flicked open the door without so much as a knock. Like her bodyguard, Petunia had been strapped down to her bunk. However, Petra had been more devilish with her straps this time. One crossed over her breasts, compressing them in an uncomfortable fashion. Another belt had been looped through her crotch and buckled down hard, causing the utmost of distractions. But the worst was the gag.
Oh, a cloth gag was usually a comfortable muffler. Zana had experienced them herself, and found them far preferable to a large red ball. However, Petra had added to the scientist's discomfort; a large container of water had been hung over her head, its valve opened just enough to allow a steady stream of drips to fall upon the gag, soaking it. Zana knew exactly the feeling this caused.
Once, while she'd captained the Sky Groper across the Sahara, she'd ignored Petra's warning and spent too much time on the topside observation platform. Before she'd known it, she'd overheated in her rubber suit and collapsed. She came to, strapped in her bunk, naked and gagged and helpless. Petra cursed her for a fool and told her she had to get plenty of liquids. And so the dripping had commenced. The gag, saturated with water, made her feel as if she were drowning. She would have to bite into it, swallowing down its liquids, only to have more forced upon her. It was a slow simulation of smothering, quite an unpleasant way to pass an afternoon. But she'd listened to her XO's warnings after that.
Clearly, Petunia was suffering the same feeling of slow-drowning. Clamps held her head steady, so she could only roll her tear-runny eyes towards to Captain, silently pleading for release. Zana stood silently, a catty little smile on her pert lips, satisfied that Petunia was getting what she deserved. And strapped in her tight bindings, her gag swimming in her mouth, she was getting it in spades.
Zana left the suffering blonde and passed into the aft cargo bay. Here, the ship's medical officer, along with two crewmembers, had Bert51 out of his box for final inspection. He hung in his shackles, arms overhead, while the doctor examined him and the two woman scrubbed at him with soapy brushes.
"Ah, Captain," the saw-bones said in greeting, a smile splitting her narrow face, "we were just getting the Royal Gift ready for presentation. Would you like to stay while we oil him up and strap him in? It's always nice to buckle a strong young manni into his traces."
Zana felt a flush come to her face. Burt51 mumbled in discomfort as a brush swirled around his privates. His fingers milled overhead, and he held his entire weight on his straining toes. Zana's breath quickened at the sight of his suffering. Here she'd been, worried about where her next orgasm was coming from, yet if she stayed here anymore, that would not be a problem. With a tense "Carry on", she left the room quickly.
Want to do?
Cook looked up with weary resignation as the door to the galley swung open. Juice from the apple the Captain had gagged her with had dried in sticky trails down her chin, yet she'd been unable to dislodge it. The cooking pan that held her was cold against her naked flesh, and her limbs throbbed from the horrible hogtie. Worse, some of the girls had stopped in a while ago; not only did they not free her, but now there was a carrot jammed up her ass. Could it get any worse?
Captain Zana Hoffsteder looked down over her, her narrow face framed by her midnight hair, her blue eyes shimmering behind the wire frames. The cook was suddenly aware of her humiliation, the serving tray, the apple, and the carrot, but she was too tired to blush. Yet strangely, she felt a warm heat rise against the tin's cold surface, down near her bowed little crotch.
The Captain continued to smile, casually sliding the door bolt home. Cook's heart, slowed in weariness, began to patter quicker.
"Cook, how are you doing," the captain asked, her voice throaty.
"Mfffff," she grunted back, shrugging as best a hogtied woman could. She watched in growing rapture as the captain inspected her bonds. She even yipped into her apple when rubberized fingertips tapped the plugging carrot. And then, with a chirping of rubber, Hoffsteder sat on the table before the cook's head, smiling down at her with icy eyes.
"Cook, I'm going to take a favor from you. I'm not going to ask, I'm simply going to take. However, I can assure you I'll make it worth your while. You take care of me, and then I'll take care of you. Deal?" As she said that, she fingered a sack of flour, judging it for non-cooking applications. Cook watched as she fingered the basters, the tenderizers, and (with a shudder), the bacon-grippers. The sound of a zipper brought her eyes back forward. The captain's suit was open. The musty scent of excited womanhood filled cook's senses.
"Here we go now," came the warning. Gloved fingers firmly took the apple and pried it loose. Then, with a squeal of rubber, the captain shifted her hips forward and a shadow fell over Cook. Zana's inner thighs were so soft and warm against her ears. Now the captain's wet mound pressed into Cook's face, and she started to lap away, the taste of apples mixing with the taste of airship captain in a delightful way. Cook laughed at herself, thinking of how she'd have to save this recipe. Then cool gloved fingers massaged her back and she laid into her efforts with enthusiasm, anxious to please, and anxious to experience just what Captain Zana could do in a kitchen.
With her booted ankles crossed lightly over the bound cook's wrists, Zana let her head rest against the galley wall, her breath coming from her lips like an exhaled kiss...
23.03.09
story continues in Gai-Shift 11: The Sister with the Forward Tail
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